Wanting the Dream
by ALC Punk
Summary: Major Paul Davis has a job to do. He's not really happy about that... Post season-7.


Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: Season 7.  
  
Set: Post-Season 7.  
  
Notes: Something that smacked me in the shower. Damn you, Davis. Went... places I wasn't expecting. Title comes from Sarah MacLachlan's 'Wait'. (I wrote this under the influence of 'Fumbling Towards Ecstacy', and may I say that the last three lines were written while 'Ice Cream' played? That was SO WRONG.)  
  
Pairing: Vague Sam/Jack.  
  
Archiving: Have at it.  
  
Wanting The Dream  
  
by Ana Lyssie Cotton  
  
He's just doing his job.  
  
Major Paul Davis keeps this in mind as he walks down the gray corridor. The overhead lights were once too bright in his eyes, would once have made him wince. But he's been here many times now, and he's used to it.  
  
He's been doing this job for nearly seven years, now. Working at the Pentagon made you able to shove everything into a little box. Bottle up your emotions and just do as you're told, little boy.  
  
The guards at the door nod to him. Used to his being there. A familiar face amongst a crowd of a hundred familiar faces. Although most of them aren't in front of the bars.  
  
He's just doing his job.  
  
The room is barren, lifeless. Even the three people seated haphazardly around the table in the center don't seem to breath oxygen in and carbon dioxide out (but as someone had once told him, back when he was working on his dissertations--he couldn't decide whether he wanted physics or mathematics--autonomic functions continue even after the brain begins to atrophy).   
  
Dear, unsnake-headed gods, but they shouldn't be like this. He can remember them, triumphant and happy and so full of life his heart felt a twinge of jealousy.  
  
But he's not here to remenisce about the great SG-1. "A decision has been made."  
  
Major Samantha Carter looks up at him, her blue eyes listless, the dark circles proclaiming how often she screams herself awake, searching for someone who isn't there anymore.  
  
She knows. He can see it, suddenly, in the way her shoulders droop that last inch. The tensions that drain completely. She was hanging onto this reality for one thing, and he's about to slam the door on it.  
  
He's just doing his damn job.  
  
"So." Daniel Jackson pushes his glasses up his nose, not even seeming to notice that the lenses are still cracked (another inmate, Davis had heard. And Jackson hadn't left the man alive).  
  
"We've tried."  
  
"Have you." The last occupant speaks, finally, his dark eyes full of resignation. Acceptance. He knows, too.  
  
"Teal'c. Maj--"  
  
"Don't call me that. Don't fucking call me that anymore." She's angry, but it's a bitter, tired angry. There's no heat or spark left.   
  
He's just doing his god-damned job.   
  
"The president has listed Colonel Jack O'Neill Killed in Action. He perished saving this planet from the threat of Anubis."  
  
"But, Jack--"  
  
"They're leaving him to freeze." Carter looks away from them all. And Davis remembers half a dozen rumours he'd heard over the years about her and her commanding officer. Whether they were true or not, it hardly matters.  
  
"And what of us, Major Davis?" Deceptive. That's what he's always thought about Teal'c, the leader of the rebel jaffa. A man who could seem innocent and simple, yet he saw way too damned much. And there was that flicker of acceptance again. "Are we not to be finally set free from our confinement?"  
  
He's just-- "SG-1 are to be held accountable for their actions. You, Major Samantha Carter will be stripped of your rank and dishonourably discharged forthwith from the United States Air Force. Dr. Daniel Jackson has been accused of two counts of murder. Teal'c willingly defied the order of his commanding officer. You are all to be held until such time as you can be bound over for trial." The words are clinical, cold. And he doesn't want to say them.  
  
Perhaps if he ignores the stark incomprehension on their faces, he can get out of this with his skin intact.  
  
"I don't--Sam?" Dr. Jackson is looking at the Major.   
  
She's slumped back to the table, her eyes emptier. "They're going to let Jack rot," she whispers. "And we're the scapegoats. So, what is the tale they're spinning, Davis? Massive conspiracy within the SGC? The NID? Or are they coming out of this smelling like roses?"  
  
"The NID is now in charge, along with a representative from every foreign nation that requested it." Facts. He can deal in facts. Not the emotions he can see crackling through the air.  
  
"Barrett must be thrilled."  
  
"Agent Barrett has been relieved of his duty."  
  
Jackson's eyes widen. "For what reason?"  
  
"It's suspected that he was also a member of the SGC conspiracy." He doesn't need to let her know that the man's in the hospital, beaten nearly to death for speaking out against these decisions.  
  
"God." Her voice cracks, "They're destroying it all, Daniel. Everything that meant something is being razed to the ground." Her head snaps up again, and she pierces Davis with a look that had once scared the pants off jaffa warriors. "What about General Hammond?"  
  
"He pleaded until he was blue in the face. He's been quietly retired."  
  
"None of this is on his record?"  
  
....doing his job. "None."  
  
"Well, we can be thankful for that, at least." The sarcasm in Jackson's voice was a learned reflex, but it's still scathing.  
  
"General Hammond was indeed a much revered man." Teal'c bows his head.  
  
"What about us, Davis?" Carter's still looking at him. "We're bound for trial. For what, saving this planet more times than you have brain cells?"  
  
The interview room suddenly feels even smaller, and Davis wonders how fast the guards outside are. "You're to be held here." It's a repeated statement, but he understands that they don't want to assimilate its meaning.  
  
"While Jack rots." Jackson nods once, then turns to Carter.   
  
She's moved before Davis can react. Faster than he thought she could. And her brittle appearance was what made him so soft. Or perhaps he's fatalistic, and knows--her arm snaps across his throat and she's leaning into his body, the wall behind him cold. "You should have sent a lackey, Davis."  
  
He swallows, carefully. "There's nothing you can do."  
  
A tilt of her head, and he can see the way her hair hangs lankly. When was the last time she paid attention to her appearance? "Well, you obviously didn't do anything."  
  
"I--we tried, Sam."  
  
The emotion suddenly in his voice makes her pause, then she shakes her head. "Not hard enough."  
  
"The president--the world--needs someone to blame everything on. You're elected it." He swallows again. "After the Kinsey debacle, you were the sudden spotlight grabbers. And then you had to..."  
  
He's just doing his job.  
  
The manic light fades from her eyes slightly, and he's suddenly aware that Samantha Carter is pitying him. "Davis."  
  
"I can't."  
  
The bittersweet smile that touches her lips is gone faster than his heart beats. "I know."  
  
He's just doing his job. And he wonders, dimly, as Samantha Carter's hands slide along his neck, find the certain pressure points that her training knows about, whether she's just doing hers, too.  
  
Sending his soul to the devil.  
  
-finis- 


End file.
